


Ron & Leslie Go to Jail

by SuburbanSun



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Parks and Recreation
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s up to Leslie to get Ron out of jail-- again-- and she’s determined to do it. Though it might help if she could figure out how he landed in Brooklyn’s 99th Precinct to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ron & Leslie Go to Jail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/gifts).



> Written for Missy-- hope you enjoy it! Sorry I couldn't fit in every single character/pairing you mentioned, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Timeline is hazy... takes place after the Parks & Rec finale (not counting the flash-forwards), but around the current timeline of Brooklyn 99. Also, any police policies/procedures may not be entirely accurate.

“Ron? Ron? Ron Swanson!” Leslie burst through the doors of the 99th Precinct, heart racing and heels squeaking on the lobby tile. All she’d heard on the crackly phone call was “Leslie, I’m in jail,” “Brooklyn,” and the name of the precinct, and she’d immediately slipped out of her panel at the Women in Government conference-- she’d already gotten through her 40-slide presentation in record time, anyway-- and plunked down too much money on a cab ride out of Manhattan.

“Whoa, whoa, miss.” A shorter man with wide, eager eyes held up his hands in front of her. “Looks like somebody’s in a hurry.”

Leslie didn’t have time for this. “My friend is here. Ron Swanson?” She held one finger above her upper lip. “Mustache? Low tolerance for small talk?”

“He’s here, as in, he’s a perp?” the man asked.

“No! Well, he’s been falsely imprisoned.” She grimaced, thinking about Ron’s track record with authority. “Possibly. Probably. Anyway, he’s here and I need to bail him out.”

“Alright, nothing to worry about. We’ll get you squared away.” The man flashed his badge and gestured for Leslie to have a seat beside a desk. “I’m Detective Boyle. You said you’re here for a Ron Swanson?”

“S-W-A-N-S-O-N, yes.”

Detective Boyle nodded, then caught the eye of a passing woman who Leslie thought pushed the boundaries of what police officers ought to wear to work. A sequined cat sweater, really? “Gina! Can you sit with Ms.…” Boyle raised his eyebrows at Leslie.

“Knope! Leslie Knope.”

“Can you sit with Ms. Knope while I go see about her friend?”

The woman-- Gina-- rolled her eyes so hard that Leslie thought she’d give April a run for her money, but sat down primly in Boyle’s desk chair anyway. He disappeared around a corner, and the two women were alone. Leslie smiled warmly at her. Ron may have been incarcerated, but that was no reason not to make a new friend!

“So, how long have you been a det--”

“Shh, shh.” Gina held her finger to her lips, looking almost affronted that Leslie had spoken at all. “I’m not finished thinking my affirmations.”

Leslie nodded as if that made any sense to her. After a beat, she spoke up. “I’m sorry-- thinking your affirmations?”

Gina drummed her immaculately manicured nails on the desktop and quirked an eyebrow at Leslie. “What? You say yours out loud?” She laughed derisively. “Aren’t you afraid someone else will hear about how fabulous you are and plan an elaborate sabotage?”

“I don’t really recite affirmations. When I need a pep talk, I have a series of voicemails on my phone from myself that I listen to, telling me to have a great day.” Leslie chuckled. “You can never have too many different kinds of pep talks on hand. But I don’t see why saying them out loud would be a problem.”

Gina blinked once, twice, then stood up and walked away.

Brooklyn wasn’t the friendliest of places, was it? Leslie pulled her phone out of her bag, shooting off a quick text to Ben, who had come to New York with her for a conveniently-timed meeting of his own, to let him know she’d found the place.

_[Ben]: Should I get the phone tree started again to let them know everything’s ok?_

_[Leslie]: Hmm. Hold off until we’ve got him out._

_[Leslie]: You moved Garry to the bottom of the phone tree, right?_

_[Ben]: After last Christmas? Of course I did._

Leslie shuddered. All Garry had needed to do was call Andy and April and let them know to bring eggnog to dinner, and he’d somehow managed to tell nine different people to bring a dozen eggs apiece. After the 10th day in a row of omelettes for every meal, she’d vowed never to eat eggs again, and Garry had lost his phone tree slot.

“Ms. Knope?” She looked up to see Boyle approaching with an apologetic look on his face. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Let me guess! The good news is, Ron’s cleared of all charges, and the bad news is, the whole precinct has come to love the ol’ lug and you’re sad to see him go?”

“Close!”

“Really?”

“Kind of! Ron’s cleared of no charges, so that’s the bad news. The good news is, you can go back and see him if you’d like!” Boyle grinned excitedly. Leslie wrinkled her nose.

“That kind of sounds like bad news and medium-okay news.” Boyle’s face fell, and Leslie couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy. “Or, bad news and… almost good news?” He shrugged, smiling once more.

“I’ll take you down to the holding cell.”

Leslie followed him, fretting internally about what kind of state Ron might be in. He hadn’t said why he’d been arrested on the phone, nor why he’d even been in New York. It was lucky he’d known she was also in town for the conference-- _score one more for the phone tree_ \-- or else she didn’t know who he would have called.

Finally, she and Detective Boyle rounded a corner to reveal Ron sitting on a bench in a drab grey cell. No cornrows; no new piercings or face tattoos; just a little roughed up and looking worse for the wear. Leslie sat in the plastic visitor’s chair and thanked Boyle, who told them he’d be back in a few minutes.

For his part, Ron just sat with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. Leslie watched him for a moment before finally speaking.

“Ron.”

“Leslie.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve bailed you out of jail.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re in here?”

“I am not.”

Leslie sighed with exasperation. Now was not the time for Ron to be taciturn. She raised her eyebrows expectantly at him, and he raised his right back. Finally she slumped back in the molded plastic chair and crossed her own arms, mimicking his position. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me what happened. But you have to tell me how we can get you out of here. Detective Boyle said they haven’t dropped any charges.”

“Bully for them.”

“Ron.”

“Yes?”

“Ron.”

“What?”

“Ron.”

“Say your piece.”

“Tell me what happened!” She scooted her chair closer to the cell, then waved a hand in apology. “Sorry, sorry, you don’t have to tell me. I respect your privacy.” A moment passed. “But you should tell me. After all, we’ve been through an _awful_ lot together,” she said, drawing out the words pointedly.

Ron let out a huge, grumbling breath through his nose, eyes cast toward the ceiling. Then he looked back at her and spoke. “Leslie?”

“Yes?”

He was silent for another moment, then in a low voice with clenched teeth, he spat out one word: “Tammy.”

Leslie jumped in her chair, whirling around to look down the hallway. “Where?!”

“She’s not here. Only I ended up here. If she can’t be in the depths of hell where she belongs, she should at least be locked away in a maximum security prison somewhere.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’d sentence Tammy to Azkaban if the government would give me the authority.” Leslie thought for a moment, then muttered to herself, “I should look into that.”

Ron almost growled.

“But Ron. Tammy? Really? Again?” He didn’t say anything. Leslie felt a wash of sympathy and guilt-- for Diane, for the kids, for not anticipating a Tammy relapse and stopping Ron before he went too far. Sure, she lived in a different state for much of the year, but he was her friend, and she surely could have talked some sense into him. “I thought you were past that.”

“Tammy is an insufferable hell wench from whom I will never be truly free.”

Leslie sighed. “But what about poor Diane? And the kids? Are you and Diane having problems? We can fix this, Ron.” He opened his mouth-- possibly to respond, or possibly to spout off more colorful names for Tammy-- but Boyle reappeared in the hallway, interrupting them.

“Ms. Knope? Someone’s here to see you.”

To see her? Leslie frowned. “Is it a judge coming to order you to let Ron go? I know a lot of judges. It’s probably a judge, Ron, you’re free!”

Boyle grinned. “It could be! But, uh, I know a lot of judges in town, too, and I’ve never seen one cower in fear quite like this guy.”

Ah yes, that made more sense. Leslie shot Ron an apologetic glance. “Ben’s here. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t let him come back here,” said Ron. He gritted his teeth. “The fewer people who know about this, the better.”

Leslie made a mental note to start a new phone tree letting people know not to mention to Ron that they knew about his current incarceration, and followed Boyle back into the bullpen. At first, she didn’t see Ben at all-- and then she spotted him, standing hunched against a wall and holding a payphone receiver to his ear. His wide eyes darted back and forth across the room. As she approached, she could hear his end of the conversation.

“Uh huh, yeah, I understand.” His voice sounded higher than usual, and Leslie couldn’t help but let out a little giggle. Her husband was so adorable. “Yes, I’m very busy. But I’ll get you that important document, Senator Erikson. Uh huh. Notarized, of course.”

“Hi, babe,” she whispered, not wanting to interrupt. His eyes lit up with relief when he saw her, and he instantly hung up the phone.

“Hi,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss. She ran a hand reassuringly up and down his arm.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here.” She smiled at him, touched. Then she frowned. “Hang on. Did you just hang up on Senator Erickson?”

“Oh, uh.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times before letting out a sigh. “No. Nobody was on the phone. I just thought maybe if they thought I was important, they would respect me.” He lowered his voice. “They can _smell fear_.”

“They’re cops, not dogs.”

“Right, those are very different,” he agreed. “Because I’m not _deathly afraid of dogs_.”

Leslie was about to reply when a smiling brunette in a crisp button-down strode up to them. “Ms. Knope? Hi, I’m Detective Santiago.” The women shook hands. When Santiago extended her hand to Ben as well, he swallowed hard, but shook it. Leslie made a mental note to reward him later for that act of bravery.

“Detective Boyle had to step away-- the Captain’s got him working a homicide.” Santiago furrowed her brow, then muttered, “Shoulda been my homicide. I was really looking forward to that homicide.” She caught herself, shaking her head and smiling once more at Leslie and Ben. “Anyway-- Boyle had to step out, and he asked me to help make sure everything got sorted out with your friend.”

“Great! Well, first step, let’s get him out of prison!”

Santiago laughed. “Well, he’s not precisely _in_ prison, of course. He’s just in holding at the moment.” She gestured for them to follow her to her desk, where she pulled out a thick white binder-- the five-inch Mead Five Star Premium with the extra-thick matte inserts, if Leslie knew her binders, which she did-- and opened to a page near the middle. “This is my color-coded codes binder. I mean, obviously I have them all memorized, but for situations like this, it’s nice to have a visual representation of what’s what.”

Leslie looked down at the pages, which were indeed color-coded, with an intricate key printed on the bottom of each page. “Wow,” she said softly, reverently. “This is amazing.”

Santiago grinned. “I like to think so.”

“Let me ask you something-- “ Leslie put one hand on her hip. “In the binder-making process, do you find it more important to devote attention to a table of contents, or to a nice, detailed index?”

Santiago leaned in conspiratorially, both eyebrows raised. “I like to spend equal time on _both_ , actually.”

“Nicely done. What about a--”

“Table of contents for the indices?” Santiago flipped to the very back of the binder to show her just that. “Oh, I couldn’t live without one.”

“This is a nice piece of work. Now, have you ever--”

“Leslie,” Ben interrupted gently. “Maybe we should, um. You know, Ron is-- he’s--”

“Sorry, sorry.” She turned back to Santiago. “What he means is, Ron is in jail. Holding, whatever. And we’re here to get him out. So I’ve got two questions for you, Detective Santiago.”

“Call me Amy, please.”

“Amy. First, what do we have to do to get Ron’s situation sorted out? And second--” Leslie reached into her purse and pulled out a business card, extending it to Amy. “Next time I’m in New York, can we meet for a cup of coffee and a nice discussion of bindering techniques?”

“Of course! It’s so rare to meet someone who appreciates the finer points of organization.” They grinned at each other for a moment, until Ben cleared his throat (which sent him into a coughing fit-- Leslie was really going to have to get him better at acting like a sane person around cops). “Right, your friend. Would you like to go back in to see him again?”

“That would be great.” Leslie turned back to Ben, who looked a little green. “Babe, are you gonna be okay out here?” He nodded quickly, and she tried to communicate “you can do it” the best she could with her eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up, and he did look a little reassured, so Leslie reminded herself to look into a potential psychic link. She’d been hoping science would progress quickly enough so that she and Ben could communicate without words by 2020, and maybe her wish had finally come true a couple of years early.

Amy led Leslie back to Ron’s holding cell and excused herself, leaving the two of them alone once again.

“How’s Ben handling it?”

“Being in a police precinct? About as well as you’d expect.”

Ron nodded, then went silent.

“Are you going to tell me why you were arrested?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me what possessed you to go back to Tammy yet again? You did such a great job resisting her the last time, Ron!”

Ron scowled. “I didn’t.”

“Then what does she have to do with any of this?”

Crossing his arms, he sighed through gritted teeth, but began to speak anyway. “One of the times I made the ungodly mistake of marrying Tammy, I made her a ring.”

“I’d expect no less of you.”

“It was a ruby ring. At the time, I thought the stone resembled the fiery look in her eyes before we made love.”

Leslie tried not to gag. “No need to elaborate on that, please.”

“Ruby also happens to be Zoey’s birthstone. As she is about to turn 13, I wanted to give her the ring. To reassign its meaning.”

Leslie’s gaze softened. She wished she could reach out and rub Ron’s back, or squeeze his hand reassuringly.

“So I called up Tammy,” Ron continued. “Predictably, she merely cackled into the phone like an aging demon and refused to give me the ring outright. But she said she’d meet me to discuss it.”

“But… Tammy still lives in Pawnee. How’d you end up in New York City?”

“You’ve met this woman. You know her ways.”

Leslie scoffed. “Do I ever.”

“She led me on a wild goose chase through nine different states. I’m not even sure New York was the final destination-- it’s just where my fool’s errand was interrupted by-- you know, getting put in jail.”

“Oh, Ron.” Leslie felt bad for ever having thought he’d strayed from Diane and the kids. He loved them more than she knew, if he was willing to take on a foe as formidable as Tammy. “Why not give up? Let Tammy have the ring. You can make a new one for Zoey.”

Ron uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on his knees, leaning forward. “What kind of lesson would it teach my children if I let that sociopathic seawitch abscond with jewelry I put my heart into?”

“Wow, Ron. That’s weirdly beautiful.”

“Unfortunately, she seems to have bested me. I’m here, with no idea where she is. She could be anywhere by now.”

“We’ll figure it out, Ron. First, we’ve got to get you out of here. What charges were you brought in on? Fighting? Destruction of property?” Leslie cringed, just a little. “Public nudity?”

Just as Ron opened his mouth to reply, a loud clatter came from the direction of the bullpen.

“That probably didn’t have anything to do with Ben,” Leslie said, mostly trying to convince herself. “No, he’s a grown man. A Congressman. He can’t be wreaking awkward, terrified havoc in a police precinct.”

Ron gave her a meaningful look. She hesitated, then relented.

“Okay, yeah, I’m gonna go check on Ben. Be _right_ back.”

Once out in the bullpen, she saw Ben sitting stock-still in a chair next to Amy’s desk, gripping the edges of the seat tightly. Gina, the cat-sweatered woman they’d met earlier, perched on the desk beside him, cackling, while Amy knelt beside them and picked up office supplies.

“Oh, hey, blondie. Your boy here’s like a little baby giraffe. Maybe a newborn foal?” Gina made a confused face and gestured wildly with her hands, apparently imitating either Ben or an animal, though which, Leslie couldn’t be sure. “No idea where his limbs end and the world begins.”

Ben grimaced, still holding onto the chair for dear life. “I was just talking to Am-- Sant-- Detective Santiago--” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Who is surprisingly nice for a cop, by the way--”

“I was begrudgingly voted Nicest in the Precinct two years running,” Amy called out brightly from the floor.

“We were just talking, and I meant to pick up this paperweight she has on her desk-- I think you have the same one-- and then _he_ walked by, and…”

“Aaaaand?” Gina drew out the word until it seemed infinite. She looked to be thoroughly enjoying Ben’s nerves.

He sighed. “And I tried to lean nonchalantly on the desk and instead I accidentally knocked over everything,” he recited.

Leslie quirked an eyebrow at him. “What have we said about acting nonchalant around police officers?”

“Don’t even bother trying,” he said, resigned.

“It’s actually fine,” piped up Amy. She stood up with an armful of supplies-- some of which Leslie definitely wanted to discuss on their coffee date. “I’m a week overdue for a total overhaul of my organizational system, anyway. He really just gave me a great impetus to get back to basics.”

“Hey man,” came a deep voice from behind Leslie. She turned, only to come face to face with an impressive pair of pectorals. “I really didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“Hey, uh, it’s, uh, totes fine. Totes. Totally,” stammered Ben.

The man, whose biceps looked to be the size of Leslie’s head, shrugged sympathetically. “I get it. Some people just startle easy. Even me! My girls once made me knock over an entire table and tea set when they snuck up behind me at tea time. Of course, the table was two feet tall. And the the tea set was plastic. And the tea was imaginary. So no harm done.”

“Yeehaw,” said Ben. “I mean, yeah. I don’t know why I said yeehaw.” He cringed. “I don’t know why I said it again. Leslie?”

“What Ben means is, it’s fine, Officer…”

“Sergeant Jeffords.” The man shook hands with Leslie, then Ben, who seemed to hold his breath during the greeting. “Nice meeting you both. You’re in good hands with Detective Santiago.” Amy beamed up at him from where she was adjusting her stapler placement just slightly. No one spoke for a moment, until Sergeant Jeffords glanced down at Ben and, perhaps sensing his continued nervousness, began to back away. “I just remembered I’ve got a yogurt waiting for me in the fridge.” He grinned. “Strawberry banana today.” With a nod, he was gone, and Ben’s shoulders lost at least a little of their tension. Maybe some cops _could_ smell fear, but in a good way.

Leslie rubbed one of Ben’s shoulders. “You okay?” Gina seemed to have disappeared, and Amy was stacking Post-Its in order by color and shape.

Ben looked up at her with an apology in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s just been awhile since I’ve, ya know, been around _this_ many cops at one time. Sorry for taking your attention off Ron.”

 _Ron. Focus, Knope._ She took a deep breath and thought determined thoughts-- maybe she did have affirmations, after all. “Time to get to the bottom of this.” She turned to Amy, who had begun to test out highlighters and order them by pigment level, as far as Leslie could tell (something she had to remind herself to try once back in her own office). “Amy?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s get down to brass tacks. What’s Ron in for? Assault? Public intoxication? Defenestration?” Lord knew she’d wanted to push Tammy out a window once or twice, so it wasn’t as if she could have blamed him for that one. She steeled herself for Amy’s response.

“Oh, let me just doublecheck his file.” Amy flipped through the folder, nodding once or twice. “Okay, none of those things are even close.”

“Oh god. Attempted murder? Public exorcism?”

Amy scrunched up her nose. “Nothing like that. He just got stopped at a random checkpoint, and refused to show any form of ID.”

“What? That’s it?”

“Mmhmm. It says here that when he was asked to show some identification, he opened his wallet, and in the spot where his driver’s license would normally be, there was just a photo of a bald eagle with the word ‘NO’ printed over it in big black letters.”

Leslie didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or yell. She chose the latter.

“Ron!” Amy had led her back to his cell, and he stood when he heard her tone. “Are you kidding me right now? You let yourself get taken to _jail_ because you don’t like people to know your full name, or where you live?”

“It’s my God-given right as an American citizen to tell people to stay the hell out of my business, Leslie.”

“No, it’s not. That’s nothing. Show Detective Santiago your ID and you can get out of here.”

Ron crossed his arms and frowned deeply, making a noise in the back of his throat like an irritated grizzly bear.

“Ron, do what I said.”

He let out a petulant groan, but finally reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a thin metal rectangle that resembled a cigarette case, only with a combination lock. With a quick glance to make sure Leslie and Amy couldn’t see his code, he put it in and opened the case to reveal his driver’s license. He held it out to Amy, who made a note in his file, then pulled out a key and opened the cell door.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Swanson. Next time, just make it easier on us all and show your ID when you’re asked.”

Leslie thought she heard Ron mutter, “never,” as he walked by her, but she couldn’t be sure.

Once they returned to the bullpen, they found Ben standing at another officer’s desk, this one a lanky man with an enormous smile. And Ben appeared to be smiling back-- as well as… was he _laughing_?

“Ben?”

“Leslie! Ron! Glad to see you’re not going to have to spend the night here.” Ben shook Ron’s hand, then turned back to the detective he’d been speaking with. “Guys, this is Jake.”

“You must be Leslie! Ben told me you and Amy were bonding over binders. Gotta respect that,” he said, nodding.

“Jake, your organizational system is basically folding up casefiles and stuffing them in empty bags from Taco Bell,” interjected Amy, arms crossed primly. He shrugged at her, his smile not fading from his face.

“Never been a problem for me before!” He thought for a moment. “Well, except for, ironically, that grease fire arsonist from last fall. Couldn’t read his address through the taco grease.”

“Gross,” said Amy, but there was no bite behind it.

“Anyway, glad to see you got your friend out. No need to have non-criminals taking up space in our cells, right, man?” This was directed at Ron, who just stared at Jake silently.

Ben shifted closer to Leslie and covered his mouth with the back of his hand, whispering. “This is the first cop who I’ve ever _not_ been intimidated by. Like, not even a little bit. Seriously, look at my hand.” He held his hand out to her, flat with his palm down. It was completely still.

“That’s amazing, babe!” Leslie looked back at Jake and followed his gaze, which had landed on Amy at her desk. Maybe their coffee date could actually be a _double_ date.

“I’d like to leave this place,” said Ron. Leslie sighed. She supposed spending a few hours in a holding cell would make anyone extra grouchy. “If I’m not going to get my ring back from Tammy, I’d like to at least get home to Diane.”

Leslie placed a reassuring hand on his back, smiling and nodding a goodbye to Jake, and began to lead Ron toward the front of the precinct. “We’ll figure something out, Ron, I promise.”

Just as they passed the last of the bullpen desks, Ron stiffened and stopped short. His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. Leslie knew exactly what that meant. They both spat out her name at the same time: “ _Tammy_.”

“You’ll never take me alive, buster!” came the shrill voice from around the corner. “I’ll slap a lawsuit on you so fast your head will spin!”

Finally she came into view-- _fully_ into view, that is, since she didn’t have a shirt on. The officer who ushered her into the precinct attempted to hold his coat in front of her chest, but she kept pawing at his hands, leaving her breasts in view.

“Quick, guys--” Ben grabbed both Leslie and Ron by the arms, and pulled them over into an alcove. “I found this hiding place earlier.”

“Can she see us?” Leslie asked.

“No,” said Ron. “The prevention or interruption of her nudity gives her rage blindness.” The three stood huddled in the alcove as they watched Tammy be checked into the precinct and forced to put on a shirt. The officer made her empty her pockets into a plastic tray, and Leslie gasped when she saw a flash of shiny red.

“Ron!”

“That’s it. That’s the ring.”

After a few more moments, Tammy was led to the back corridor-- likely to the same holding cell in which Ron had recently sat. They stepped out of the alcove, Ron’s gaze firmly on the plastic tray.

“I’m going to take it,” he said, and it was all Leslie could do to grab the sleeve of his shirt and pull him back.

“Don’t you think you’ve run afoul of the law enough today?”

He whined in the back of his throat. “It’s my property.”

“I _know_ that. Maybe… maybe if you can prove it, they’ll just let you take it. I could ask Amy.”

“No, Leslie,” said Ben. “Did you see her file folders? She’s more by the book than you are.”

It was a fair point. Leslie scanned the bullpen and spotted Gina-- she hadn’t seemed to care about much. Maybe if Leslie admitted that she used affirmations after all…

Ben took a deep breath. “I think I got this, actually.” He stepped over to Jake’s desk, and Leslie and Ron trailed behind. “Jake?”

The man looked up with a grin. “What’s goin’ on, Ben?”

“We have a slight problem. You see, that woman who was just brought in is my friend Ron’s ex-wife.”

“Ooh, drama.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” continued Ben. “We believe she had a ring with her that was rightfully his-- I think it’s in that personal effects tray over there-- and we were just hoping he might be able to get it back.”

Jake surveyed the trio, who all looked at him hopefully. He shrugged and crossed over to the other officer’s desk, picking up the tray. “Describe it to me,” he said to Ron, eyes narrowed.

“It is a round-cut ruby gemstone in a six-prong-setting with a ten karat white gold band with an antiqued interior.”

“‘Reddish stone, sorta silver band’ would have sufficed.” Jake handed Ron the ring and set the tray back down.

“Thank you, son.” Ron pocketed the ring and nodded at Jake before turning to leave.

“No prob, man!” Jake replied, waving. Leslie and Ben thanked him as well before saying goodbye and walking out together.

“That was amazing, Ben! You had no fear whatsoever. In a police precinct!” She looped her arm through his.

“I know! I don’t know what happened. I think it’s just impossible to be intimidated by someone who reminds you a little bit of Tom, a little bit of Jean Ralphio, and a whole lot of the class clown from Mrs. Peterman’s 4th grade class.”

Ron was waiting when they exited the precinct onto the street. “Thank you, Leslie and Ben. For coming to bail me out, but also for helping me get this ring back. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

Leslie smiled at him, her Ron smile, and reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “No. You couldn’t have.”

“I suppose you both have business to attend to.”

A glance at her watch told Leslie the conference was almost over for the day, anyway. She shrugged, looking back and forth between two of her favorite men. “The government can wait. What do you say we see what kind of waffles Brooklyn has to offer?”

Ron smiled. “You had me at ‘the government can wait.’”

As it turned out, Brooklyn’s waffles didn’t hold a candle to JJ’s (too crunchy, with about 78% less whipped cream than was strictly necessary). But Leslie decided, as she filed Amy Santiago’s card into her business card binder later that night, its people weren’t half bad.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to chat on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


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